To Despair in Solitude
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: Penelo, bruised and bloodied, tries her hand at waxing philosophic while stuck in the Bangaa's den. Oneshot.


**I need to give a HUGE shout out to my wonderful beta, ice princess deluxe, without whom this would not be nearly as good. She's seriously awesome, and quite a talented writer to boot, so go on over and check out some of her stories!**

**Disclaimer: Characters and game the creative property of Sqeenix. The rest is mine. :D **

**To Despair in Solitude**

Her body felt as if it were aflame; the muscles in her legs taut and solid from kneeling on the hard, uneven floor, the rest of her stiff from being jostled like a rag doll. The shackles that bound her were heavy and imperial; they weighted down on her lithe wrists so brutally she felt as if the bone would snap. Already, the skin there was chafed and bleeding, tender from vain attempts to free her hands from their restraints. Fierce wriggling had proved to be completely ineffectual, leaving behind more abrasions and evidence of tiny, white flecks of skin that had flaked off after repeated scraping. She did not cry though – not any more, at least. By now, it had been long enough that the skin of her wrists had become uncomfortably numb, her senses dulled to that pain. Her body was more preoccupied by the other extremities that were suffering: the legs cramped from being ungracefully slumped upon; the tender, plum bruise set just on the bone of her eyebrow (the result of being flung unceremoniously onto the damp floor of her prison cell); the likely contusion borne on her abdomen from being punched fiercely in the gut, which had felt like all the air in her body was being sucked out past her ribs, through her lungs, and forced out of her throat in an audible and painful gasp.

What smarted the most, however, was the irrepressible anger that had managed to well up inside her, a smoldering, hot fusion within the core of her body. Never could Penelo recall being so helpless, so _stupid_ before – even if one included all those times she had gone along with one of Vaan's "brilliant" ideas. Her eyes burned, earlier tears of shame, resentment, and despair making them sting.

Penelo was normally a bright girl – remarkably bright, even; she could smooth talk her way out of most of the messes Vaan made, she could actually read (a rare gift for poor orphans residing in Lowtown), and was one _hell_ of a good saleswoman. She was Migelo's finest – she knew just how to bat her pretty blue eyes and show off those pearly white teeth. Without conceit, she was able to proclaim that she could smile effusively and still sound sincere when saying "Oh yes, you're likely going to need those eye drops; just because they're normally only used for when you've been blinded doesn't mean they won't come in handy here in bright, sunny Dalmasca!" Oh yes, Penelo was one sharp tack.

Which is why she was so furious with herself, so angry that she could have been so distraught, so distracted (over _Vaan_ of all people, the idiot!) that she simply didn't pay attention, forgot completely about the unsavory types that Lowtown drew in, and had walked head-first (well, more like gut-first) into a sinister Bangaa's fist. As she doubled over with pain, a greasy, sticky handkerchief had been thrust over her eyes, completely obstructing her vision, and she had been forcibly dragged down a deserted alleyway, where she was once again punched in the stomach (for good measure, she assumed) before she completely passed out from the overwhelming sensation to vomit. When she had come to, she was being thrust into a dingy cell, the sharp cackling of laughter still clanging in her ears.

Defeated, she slumped against the wall, the back of her shirt slightly snagging on the roughened surface. What a state she was in, kidnapped and filthy and hopeless and in pain! Penelo could feel the perspiration on the back of her neck, soaking her blonde hair, mingling with dirt and the putrid stench of dirty Bangaa. She indulged in an agonized sigh, wincing slightly. She could still feel the impact of the blow to her abdomen, was still reeling from the sensation of snaking fingers curling around her lungs and squeezing, agonizingly forcing out all the air until every ounce of her body was frozen with pain, making it hurt to inhale.

She let her head rest back against the wall and allowed her swollen eyes to slide shut for a few moments respite. Absently, she delved into her pocket, withdrawing the handkerchief that the well-dressed (and handsome) man had given to her to halt her advance. She could see why he'd done it – she had been a fool, marching up to Imperials. His actions had kept her from being taken into custody with them.

The irony was not lost on her. "One prison for another," she mused bitterly, fingering the delicate pure cloth, now being stained by her filthy, bloodied hands.

She couldn't discern exactly how much time had passed, but being stuck in the cell was completely dreary, and her limbs were becoming more and more numb with each passing moment. She tried shifting (as much as she could without experiencing too much discomfort), before settling down again. The silence of her prison bore into her skull loudly; she was always used to hearing _something,_ whether it be the chirping of the insects that invaded Lowtown at night or the bustling of Rabanastre ahead; the dancer wasn't meant to dwell in silence.

She (carefully) sighed again. Was she doomed to stay here forever? The Bangaas had mentioned something about a "Balthier," and keeping her until he came; and she didn't even know who he was! What if he _never_ came? Would they keep her here, forever, until her stomach shrunk from hunger and the skin on her bones flaked away? Would they leave her to disintegrate in this musty old prison cell, the blonde little dancer from Dalmasca who never meant to get into trouble, and did nothing to deserve such a cruel fate?

She shook her head; she needed to stop being so pessimistic – it was crossing the border into morbidity.

But the thoughts were creeping and persistent. What if she _did_ die, here in this cell, completely alone? Penelo, when she was younger (and sometimes still, when she couldn't sleep at night) used to philosophize that even though the world was so vast, every individual was still completely unique; like granules of sand, though the number was seemingly infinite, were never quite of the same grain. Everything she did was new; every action she took was taken in a completely unique manner, a manner all her own; everyone could lay claims to doing _something_, but no one could ever do it the same. She wondered, then, if she were the only person in the world in this predicament; and she was. She was the only blonde dancer from Rabanastre in _this_ prison cell; she was the only prisoner to have chafed her wrists in such a manner, to have mangled her limbs in such a way. In her captivity, she was completely alone and desolate.

Such thoughts were depressing, and she wondered nonetheless how true was it? Was she the only one suffering exactly like this? Was there even a way to tell? How did she know that there was not another dancer from Rabanastre stuck in a prison cell in the same fashion as she? Did that mean she was not truly alone in her plight, but rather just one victim of many, a collective conscious of the population, suffering?

She was being silly. Of course she was the only one; she was the only Penelo in the world, and even if there happened to be another "Penelo", that other girl wasn't actually _Penelo_, and there was no way she was doing the same things the real Penelo was doing at that very moment, no way that the same thoughts were being shared by both Penelo's. It just wasn't possible, she reasoned, no matter how vast the world's population, to have two completely independent-minded individuals thinking the same thoughts, operating in the exact same way, at the same moment, in the same fashion. No, she was singular, the sole entity; she was suffering unaccompanied.

But, she mused, even though she was the only person experiencing the _exact_ things she was experiencing, well, that didn't mean that there weren't other people experiencing _similar enough _things to what she was going through. This was a point on which she was certain; somewhere, out in the world, she was not completely alone; there were others stuffed into cages like she, bruised and beaten on the point of defeat. Some may have even been waxing philosophic, like she had, thinking about similar thoughts, wondering if they too were entirely individual, completely unique.

She wondered briefly if Vaan and his mystery companions were stuck like she was, chained and bound, with only their thoughts to keep them company. The idea connected her to them, and she felt less alone.

She decided, if it came down to it, she would rather be completely the same and joined together, than to despair in solitude.

The door of her cell swung open furious, and she started, surprised at the visitor. The Bangaa stormed in, wrenching her shackled hands towards him, and unlatching the cuffs.

"Get out of here, before we change our minds," he hissed, and Penelo wasted no time whatsoever, forcing her stiff legs into motion and clamoring upward, before running as fast as she could out. Her legs felt unsteady and shaky, but she forced herself to run faster. From the industrial looking tracks and carts, she figured that she was in some sort of mine, but defenseless as she was, she wasn't about to take the time to explore. She ran and ran, forcing herself to ignore the burning swell of her lungs as she gasped for air, until she reached the exit and felt the warm sunbeams splash across her face.

She reached the foot of the stairs and collapsed unto them, panting heavily, dizzy from the excursion. She forced herself to blink, once, twice, trying to flush the iridescent floaters from her vision, eyes still adjusting to the brightness outside. Where was she, exactly? While she did not recognize any of her surroundings, she was certain of one thing:

"I've a feeling I'm not in Dalmasca anymore."

She gulped, realizing her plight was far from over. She had to find a way home, but first, she needed to find some way to force her weary body to stand, and then after that, had to muster the strength to make the trek up the impossibly steep staircase in front of her. She gave a weary sigh. She had just survived being kidnapped by stinking, disgusting Bangaa's for goodness sake!

"I can handle _this." _ She told herself firmly, and willed the heaviness in her limbs to dissipate.

As she began making her ascent, she prayed that somewhere, Vaan's luck mirrored her own, and that she wasn't alone in her freedom.


End file.
